Welcome Home John Watson
by jadoremiriam
Summary: This is a story based on pure imagination, thinking what happened before John and Sherlock met in the lab at Barts and how their life was up until that point. This story is about John's life, more precisely his life in Afghanistan and what happened.
1. Chapter 1  Long Sunday Afternoon

**So, I'm a huge fan of BBC's modern adaptation of the brilliant Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and my friend blod1tatws has been on fanfiction for a while creating awesome stuff (check her out!) – So, I might as well give it a go myself. Now, don't expect anything brilliant, I'm more comfortable writing in my first language, Welsh and my English is not very good (examination wise). **

**I'm just thinking, what happened before Sherlock and John met? What happened in Sherlock's childhood? Johns Afghanistan time? The feud between Sgt Donovan and Sherlock, when Sherlock met Molly etc. Here I'm just using my imagination. I don't own anything, and this is based on my imagination and a few helps from Wikipedia! Enjoy and review! **

**(Also, I'm using titles from songs or musicals as titles, just to play with it a bit more and to bring something from my other obsession, Desperate Housewives, into this as the episode titles on DH are all from Stephen Sondheim songs.) **

**Prologue: **

Standing in his empty hallway at the back of 32 Bradgate Lane, looking at the four walls that surrounded him; he sighed. With a firm hand he turned the key in the lock and walked towards the front door. Stopping, anticipating, then, looking back onto the hallway. Looking up at the winding staircase, into the empty lounge and on the white washed walls that glared at him. Another sigh. 

'Well, I guess this is the end of our story now, time for a clean slate, fresh start, for you and me.'

There was a short silence. 

'Too much has happened here, we need to move on, I need to..Wait. What am I doing? Speaking to an empty house..It's come to this now has it?' 

He turned his back on the house, pulled the door shut tightly and slid away from the small picket fence that lined with the pavement. He walked ahead and didn't hesitate to look back at the house that held so many memories for him, it was like he was escaping a prison he'd lived in for so many years and was now free to do as he pleased. Slowly he faded into the distant, all alone with just his backpack.

**Chapter 1: Long Sunday Afternoon **

On a quiet Sunday in march, you'd expect the local station to be fairly quiet. But not today.

Typical,' he thought 'All I want it a bloody ticket out of here and I have to queue even to do that!'

'Can I help you, Sir?' came a voice from behind him 'I'm sorry, we're having a bit of trouble with the ticket machines at the tills. If you're in a hurry I could come with you to the machines over here, only if you're paying with a card of course...'

'Yes, yes. That's fine.' He replied, quite frustrated, but eager to get going.

'Very well, Sir. Follow me. Right, I just need a few details first to put on the ticket. Name?'

'Watson. John Watson.'

'Have you any titles? Or is it just Mr?'

'Doctor, actually.'

'Okay,' the man pressed a few buttons, then a few more, and John was slightly frustrated as the line had now gone down on the check in desk. 'Right, where are you travelling to Dr Watson?'

'Coningsby, Linconshire.'

'Oh right, now then, I can get you off at Hubberts Bridge Rail Station or Heckington Rail Station...'

'Hubberts will do. That's the closest to Conningsby Airground. Just the ticket then please.'

'Conningsby Airground? That's the RAF is it? Going somewhere nice?' The look on John's face was enough to make him realise he'd phrased the question wrongly. 'Well you know what I mean, somewhere not involved in war?'

'Nice enough. I guess. Afghanistan. If you must know.' His face was red as he handed over the ticket. 'Thanks.'

He headed for platform 2 and boarded the train just in time. He found a seat next to the window, looking back on the old town, seeing it disappear into the distance, into his past.

The intercom on the train sounded. 'Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen this is Emma speaking. We are due to arrive at Hubberts Bridge Station in approximately 6 minutes, will passengers wishing to depart at this particular stop please inform members of staff as we will not be stopping the train unless you wish to depart. Thank you.'

'Guess that's us then, mate' came a voice from the seat across. John hadn't noticed him during the journey. 'You're going same place as me probably with that sack. Hairstyle all cut nicely and you've shaved. Better prepared than me, mate, I'll be doing that in the toilets an hour before we go. I'm Neil.' John shook his hand and replied with his name.

The intercom sounded again. 'All passengers wishing to depart at the next stop, Hubberts Bridge Station please make your way to the exit doors and alert any member of crew. Thank you.'

'After you, John, mate.'

The Lincolnshire countryside was very different from the small town John had lived in for so many years. City life had not suited him at all. But he couldn't see himself living here either, amidst all the fields and the farmland. He couldn't really see himself living anywhere. As the two men walked along the narrow country roads up to RAF Conningsby, they chatted about interests, likes and dislikes, and how their training went.

'In it for the adventure I am. Can't wait to see more of the world than a tiny corner of England. It'll be tough at times, but so is life back home. We'll be fine, you and me, we'll stick together.' There was no reaction from John, he just stared, gazing at the vast fields of green that lay around him.

'What about you, John?'

'Huh? Me? I don't know anymore. Nothing else to do, I guess. Nothing to keep me there. Escaping is such an easy reason, but that's the only one I can think of. Escaping. Escaping my past, people I met, things I did. Escaping seemed like an easy option.'


	2. Chapter 2  I need a doctor

**_UPDATED: Thanks to someone for pointing out my terrible spelling, I've had some trouble with my laptop and Microsoft office is being a twat at the moment. But I've updated both chapters with correct spelling. Sorry! And thanks for pointing it out :)_**

**Thank you blod1tatws for the review on the last chapter :) This is dedicated to her, my friend, my fellow benedict stalker and my inspiration :) LUV YA BUD!**

**Again, don't own anything, just something that popped up in my mind! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: I need a Doctor**

As morning came in the RAF base at Conningsby, John Watson was already up. He'd gotten up at the crack of dawn and had walked to the closest village to get the morning paper. The same old news was in the paper, terrorist threats on the increase, new statistics proving that young girls in Wales are above the national average on teen pregnancy etc. He sighed. This was always the story. Always the case.

'20 Richmonds please' he said to the cashier at the corner shop 'Keep the change.'  
>He knew he shouldn't smoke. He knew all to well the effects this had on one's health, being a Doctor. But today, he needed something to calm his nerves, and cigarettes were the answer to that.<p>

Back at the base the military proceedings were happening. Registering, pick up of kits and essentials, last minute health checks. John was meant to be there, but he chose to sit outside one of the buildings, watching the clouds race by in the blue sky above.

'Doctor John Watson to report to building A please, Doctor Watson to building A,' the tanoy sounded over the base.

'Bloody hell, can't a man get a few minutes to himself?' he muttered as he quickly hurried across to building A.

'Ah, John!' said a relieved voice from behind, 'You've decided to show your face then! Come on, we need you! These are the forms you need, give them out to everyone on your list and then fill one out yourself. They're waiting for you in room G23, up the stairs to your right.' How can someone be so cheerful so early, John wondered.

In room G23, stood 20 soldiers. Varying in age, from 18 to 36. 17 men and 3 women. A colleague, Dr Jemma Wright, was already there, waiting for him.

'Sorry I'm late, lost track of time! I'm Dr Watson' he shook her hand, 'John.'

'Better late than never! I'm Jemma. Shall we get started? I'll take the first cubicle, you take the second.'

They took their soldiers and gave them the health check, the forms, the information and the whole rigmarole. John didn't really pay any attention to the words spilling from his mouth, he just muttered them along, like a robot. He gave them all a pen and started filling out his forms as well. Some health forms, more health forms, some questionnaires before flying on the aircraft, some voluntary questionnaires.

1) Why did you choose to serve with the Armed Forces?  
>2) Do you have any doubts at this point?<br>3) Are your family and friends supportive?  
>4) Are you scared?<p>

These were all for a college research in the nearby University. He might as well give them a go. As he didn't want to answer them in his mind, perhaps a white paper in front of him would force him to admit something.

1) Disappearing. Escaping. From the past. Decisions that were badly made. Relationships failing. New start.  
>2) Doubts? Doesn't everyone have doubts? Are they going to die? Are they ever going to come back home? What will be out there? Think it's quite natural to have doubts. That's what I think anyway.<br>3) Family approve...of my job – Doctor. Where my job is based? Don't think so. It's my choice anyway. And friends? Lost them. Long time ago. Family's got enough to worry about anyway. Not like I'm the black sheep of the family anymore. Sibling's doing that.  
>4) Scared? I've been through military training and medical school...what do you think?<br>And the last message read 'Thank you for completing this questionnaire, all your details will not be shared. We wish you the best of luck' – 'Yes, you and me both.' Muttered John as he sealed the envelope.

After lunch, they were all to meet in building B to collect their I.D. He'd been queuing for a good 10 minutes before he reached the end of the line.

'Name?'

'Watson, Dr John Watson'

'Date of birth?'

'23 of April 1979'

'There we go, here's your I.D.'

'Thank you'

He looked at the small card in his hand. Bad picture, he thought. He looked like a thug. Dark circles under his eyes. Understandably, considering he didn't sleep at all the night before he took that picture. It was the night Carrie had come by to get the last of her things. The night she'd told him.


End file.
